The Ache in the Heart
by fictitiousgirl08
Summary: Set post-100th episode as Booth and Brennan learn to navigate their "new normal." How long will it take until they realize they're fooling themselves? Major spoilers for anything after the 100th episode.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I've never written a fanfic for Bones before, nor have I ever attempted a multi-chapter fic, but here goes. The 100th episode inspired me, and so the intent is to follow B&B through the rest of the season, seeing how the "subtle shifts" in their relationship play out. I'll keep going through the season finale, but no matter what happens on the show, they will be happy in my fic instead of continually torturing themselves. Also, this chapter is a very mild T, but there will be more graphic stuff up ahead, so I'm rating it M to be safe.

A quick note about the chronology: it begins post-episode at a random bar, and then transitions to the closing scene of the episode. All dialogue stolen from the show is the creation of the writers of Bones, the rest is me.

* * *

_Later that night, a random bar_

He still can't pinpoint what exactly pushed him to open his mouth. Five years of carefully crafted restraint blown out the window in a single, reckless moment. But he had been so sure, so confident that her answer would be "yes." He had so many signs – not just the hugs and the touches and the easy camaraderie they shared, but her own words – hadn't she stood right in front of him, Jared and Padme and said that he'd taught her to believe that love might be real, that it might not just be a chemically and hormonally induced biological imperative? He'd always been a damn good gambler on his good days, and all the signs had pointed to luck being on his side.

* * *

Her first inclination something is happening is the sound of his footsteps stopping, and so she adjusts her steps to match his, slowing and turning. Perfectly in sync, just like they always are. His first words puzzle her: _"I'm the gambler_." She looks at him, her mouth quirked up in a half smile as though she is about to make some lighthearted remark before realization dawns. Sweets. Stalemates. Breaking them. Booth being a gambler. Her mind is whirring, and then he continues, confirming her deepest fears. _"I believe in giving this a chance_. _Look, I want to give this a chance_." Her expression falls rapidly as her whirring mind processes the implications of what he was saying. _What are you doing, Booth?_ her mind screams. _Stop. stop now, before you say something we both regret. _

* * *

He sees the half smile fall from her face, watches as she disbelievingly asks _"what, you mean us?"_ If he didn't know better, he'd guess she was giving him one last chance to take it back, just like he'd taken back his "I love you" all those months ago. But it wasn't going to work. He was a gambler, and he had put up every chip he had, and he was going for broke. He steps in towards her, closing the distance between them, trying to pull her back in quickly, because he can see he is losing her. The first refusal didn't surprise him, he can read her well enough to know she would think this a terrible idea, and so he arms himself to counter whatever argument she could muster.

* * *

Her brain is in panic overdrive, grasping for the first excuse that came to mind. She could not let this happen. They could not go down this path. She wouldn't let them. She has to make him see reason. He's going with his gut right now, and that is dangerous territory.

"_No!" _she hears herself say forcefully, _"the FBI won't let us work together as a couple-" _The mere thought of it makes her eyes start to shine with unshed tears.

He cuts her off equally forcefully, as though he had known what she was going to say, but then again, she shouldn't be surprised – their partnership has thrived on this rich understanding of the other person, finely honed over the years.

"_Don't do that – that is no reason _–"

And then for a few, glorious seconds, her mind goes blank.

* * *

He still wasn't getting through to her. Time to pull out all the stops and show her why she should say yes, why this could be so good, so perfect, so amazing. And so he reaches out, grabbing her by the arms, and kisses her. He pours himself into the kiss while keeping himself as restrained as he can – this is not like that night outside the bar, where it had been all softness and heat, nor is this like the time under the mistletoe, which had started off chaste and suddenly morphed into something more urgent. This kiss was love, it was about silencing her fears, telling her what he could not in words, that he would always be there for her, if only she would give him a chance.

For a moment, he believes his plan was working. She is still in his arms, kissing him back, one hand placed on his lower back to steady herself as he pulls her in tight against him, the other resting on his chest. And then, just as suddenly as he'd begun to hope, he finds himself being pushed away, her hands smacking against his coat as she shoves him.

"_No!" _she exclaims.

He feels himself getting desperate, hears that desperation creep into his voice as he asks _"Why? Why?"_ pressing her for an answer, trying to make sense of why she was running away, why she was denying what they both knew they felt for each other.

Never in a million years would he have guessed her rationale.

"_You – you thought you were protecting me, but you're the one that needs protecting."_

"_Protecting from what?" _he asks. His confusion is written across his face. For someone who prides herself on her cool rationality, she isn't making much sense right now. Her expression worries him – not only does she seem on the verge of breaking down, she looks positively distraught.

"_From me!"_

_

* * *

_

She can't bring himself to look into his eyes, knowing that she will lose her resolve if she does. She knows it has to be done, the rational part of her brain recognizes this fact, but how the pain caused by saying these words to him takes her by surprise. She isn't afraid of him leaving her. He had demonstrated time after time that he will be there for her, to rescue her, save her, protect her, comfort her. Repeated experiments producing a consistent result have made her certain of this fact. No, what she fears is breaking him, hurting him with her inability to love, with her coldness (again, if everyone remarks upon an observable trait, there has to be truth in it). If she breaks him, she would never forgive herself, and she cannot risk losing the most important relationship she has ever had. So she continues, laying out her rationale, all the while staring down at his jacket lapels.

"_I-I don't have your kind of open heart"_

She forces herself to look up at him, tears beginning to obscure her vision. She has to make him understand, trying to love her is the biggest mistake he could make.

"_Just give it a chance, that's all I'm asking." _ He looks at her, refusing to be swayed by her logic, bent on persuading her. Why wasn't he understanding her?

"_No, you said it yourself: the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and expecting a different outcome."_

She looks up at him again, her voice steadier now, her rational mind asserting control over her emotions once more. Her argument is beginning to sound convincing even to herself.

* * *

"_Well then let's go for a different outcome here, alright? Let's just – hear me out, alright?"_ His voice comes out harsher than he wants, his frustration at not making her see why she could, why she should trust in him, trust in them, trust in herself to make this work, fueling his panic. He can't lose her, not after putting everything on the line like this. The gambler has one last trick to play.

"_You know when you talk to older couples who, you know, have been in love for thirty, or forty, or fifty years, alright, it's always the guy who says "I knew." _

The expression on her face is full of love and sadness all mixed together, and it's enough to tear at his heart. He softens his tone and hears himself say,

"_I knew. Right from the beginning." _

He hadn't realized it until the words come out of his mouth, but it's entirely true. Somehow, standing on that bar stoop in the pouring rain, confessing to her before lowering his lips to hers, he knew. He knew that this beautiful, intelligent, infuriating puzzle of a woman had gotten under his skin, that no matter what happened, this wasn't the end for them.

To his dismay, she shakes her head firmly in a dismissive way, breaking eye contact with him again.

"_Your evidence is anecdotal." _

What the hell is that supposed to mean? You can't prove a feeling, and she clearly doesn't believe that these unspoken feelings that have existed between them for five years could lead to the kind of love that people write songs about, the kind of love that comes along only once in a lifetime, the kind of love that changes, has already changed you for the better. Not for the first time, he wishes he could turn off that rational scientist brain of hers, but he stands his ground.

"_I'm that guy. Bones, I'm that guy. I know."_ he repeats again, soft, certain, giving it his all to convince her.

* * *

Inside, her heart physically hurts. If only she could trust herself to love him, to experience this ephemeral feeling that she so desperately wants to feel but isn't capable of having. But she can't, and so she makes her case once more, laying her faults out for him in his language, using words he will understand.

"_I – I am not a gambler, I'm a scientist," _she says, her voice cracking slightly. She cannot convince herself, in the absence of evidence to the contrary, that this relationship will be different, that it can be different. She cannot trust herself in the absence of such evidence not to break Booth's heart and single-handedly drive him away and destroy the one constant in her life.

"_I can't change. I don't know how. I don't know how." _This last word is cut off by her voice giving out. Keeping her emotions under control is proving difficult, and at this moment, they are nearly besting her best efforts at restraint.

He opens his mouth to say something, but finally, he is silenced. She has succeeded, but at what cost? The look on his face is one of deep sadness, and she has caused it. At that moment, she hates herself.

"_Please, don't look so sad," _she pleads with him.

* * *

He has put his heart on the line and failed. He has gambled everything he has in him, and has lost, and now he is worn out. Worn out, weary, and burdened by a deep sadness at having failed to convince this woman whom he loves with every fiber of his being to see that she loves him too, that she can love him. And then he hears her voice, pleading with him. _"Please, don't look so sad." _

"_Alright, ok,"_ he mutters as he leans back against the ledge. He would like nothing more to let loose, to let himself fall to pieces, but he can't, he won't let himself. Even now, kicked and down, he _still_ cares too much about her to cause her intentional pain. It doesn't matter that she has just caused him the deep kind of pain that would send a lesser man running to the nearest bar to drink himself into a stupor.

He discreetly wipes the tears that have formed in his eyes away as she sits down next to him. If he had it in him, he would wear her down, tell her the thousand and one ways in which she has already changed, tell her all the moments he has seen her heart, caring, compassionate, warm, and yes, more than capable of love, but he has nothing left. He can't find it in himself to tell her that he loves her, all of her, for who she is, that if she changed to fit some idea of what she thinks he wants, she wouldn't be his Bones. But he cannot fight any longer, not now. It is too raw, too much, holding himself together in her presence, and he cannot bring himself to convince her that she is wrong again. So he takes the easy way out and gives in to her, her and her false assumptions about herself, about them.

He turns to face her.

"_You're right." _His voice is steadier now, calm, as though this whole conversation never happened, as though his heart doesn't feel as though it might never heal from this ache. Wryly the thought occurs to him that compartmentalizing is meant to be Bones' specialty, not his.

"_You're right,"_ he repeats, in a whisper, shrugging his shoulders and looking away because those wide blue eyes of hers, shining with tears, are a little too much to look at right now.

* * *

He looks back at her, and she not only can she see his pain, she can see the effort he is making to hide it from her, and she hates herself even more. She takes a breath. Now comes the moment of truth, to see whether they have been broken beyond repair. To test whether her assumption that hurting them both in this way will save them from greater hurts later on and keep them in the comfortable, secure balance they have created for themselves over the years.

When the words come out though, they sound more scared than she realizes.

"_Can we still work together_?" She looks at him, her fear written all over her face, and he looks back at her for a long moment, clenching his jaw, and she feels as though her heart might break even more than it already has, assuming hearts could break, which rationally she knows they cannot. Rationality though, fails to explain the deep, twisting pain in her chest, the pain that's making it hard to breathe as she waits for his answer. The silence goes on for long, excruciating moments.

* * *

He hears her question, sees the frightened little girl inside her seeking reassurance that he isn't going to walk away from her even though no sane person would blame him for doing so. He just can't freaking believe his luck, that out of all the emotionally screwed up people in the world, he has to fall for the one who has a pathological fear of abandonment, and he can't hurt her. It isn't a question of being selfish and callous and protecting his own heart, of causing her the same pain she has caused him by rejecting him. It's a question of him having too much heart, too much fucking honor, to say no and crush her, send her back into her shell.

But it's too much to force the words out just yet and so he looks away, silently nodding his head in affirmation before finally letting out a resigned _"Yeah."_ He gazes up into the inky black sky, unable to look back at her just yet, to let her know the full cost of that one word.

* * *

She senses how difficult it was for him to utter that single, solitary syllable. She might not be able to read people, but in this moment, she can read Booth perfectly, and though it sounds trite, she really does mean it when she says _"Thank you._"She is thanking him for not hating her. Thanking him for being the better person of the two of them, as she has always known he is, thanking him for still willing to be her partner even though she has just broken his heart. She is acutely aware of this last point, and it hurts her. She too looks away, staring down at the ground.

She hears him take a deep breath and then hears the words she has dreaded hearing all this time. The irony is, she should be glad to hear these words because it means her plan has worked.

"_But I gotta move on," _he says. _"I gotta find someone who's going to love me in thirty years, or forty, or fifty."_ There. He has said it. He accepts her logic, accepts that she is not capable of loving him like he deserves to be loved. This is what she wanted. Right? Then why does it hurt? Why is she wiping tears from her face?

* * *

Telling her that he has to move on is easier than he expects, but a little part of him hates that she has given up on them without trying, hates that he doesn't have it in him to prove her wrong. He lays out how it's going to be, that he will move on, that he will try, at least, to give his heart to someone else (even though he knows deep down this is probably never going to happen). What catches him off-guard is the tiny, sad sound of her voice saying _"I know_."He can hear that she is hurting, and he wonders how she can't see her reactions in this situation as proof that she is capable of love, proof that she has a heart. But it doesn't matter. This conversation is finished now, and he refuses to let his mind engage in that line of thought any longer.

He hears her sniff through her tears, and then watches her get up and start to walk away, distancing herself from him. He can't let that happen though, and so he hops down off the ledge and goes after her, secretly a little pleased that she hears his footsteps and turns, waiting for him to catch up to her. She may have pushed him away, but she does care.

* * *

She can't stay next to him any longer, the stark truth of what has transpired between them suddenly sinking in with full force. Wiping her tears from her eyes, she begins to walk, putting distance between the two of them, reconciling herself to the fact that this is their new reality. Distance where once there was intimacy. A painful but necessary choice. Yet, she can't deny that her heart skips a beat when she hears Booth's feet land on the ground and begin to follow her. He still cares. He is unwilling to let her just walk away, and for that she is grateful. A small smile is on his face as he catches up to her and closes the distance between them, and she looks at him for a brief moment before looking down at the ground and smiling slightly as well. All hope is not lost.

As if on instinct, their bodies move closer together, and she leans against him for a moment, wanting to feel the reassuring solidness of him, of Booth, of his continued presence in her life. This brief contact is not enough, and so on impulse she lets herself slip her arm into his to bring them closer together, to regain a little of those dozens of tiny touches and brushes she has grown accustomed to in her day-to-day life. When he does not pull away, she rests her head lightly on his shoulder, and breaths a silent sigh of relief as he puts his head against hers, resting it there for a moment as they walk onwards into the night, into new, uncharted territory.

* * *

The feel of her arm slipping into the crook of his own surprises him, especially given the intentional brush of her body against his a moment earlier. It's very unlike her to initiate physical contact between them, but he's perversely grateful for it, knowing too well that this may be one of the last times they will touch each other freely. As he rests his head against hers, he lets himself enjoy the moment before tomorrow dawns and he must learn to navigate a new reality, one in which the two of them must redraw the lines of what is appropriate or not. It is bittersweet, but for now, the feel of her arm in his will suffice.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** First, I would like to thank from the bottom of my heart all the people who have added this story to their favorites/alerts, and those who have (even more flatteringly) added me to their favorite authors. To those of you who took the time to comment, I truly, deeply appreciate your words of kindness. This chapter is long, and it definitely took more effort (but let's face it, Death of the Queen Bee was a major flop after the intensity of the 100th episode), but hopefully it does not disappoint. I now know how the rest of the story is going to play out, and I ask that you bear with me as I write - I will try to update as quickly as possible, but this chapter has shown me that writing around an entire episode takes a TON of effort. Cheers, and happy reading. :)

* * *

The ride up to Burtonsville had been largely quiet. Last week's events remained vividly fresh, and the tension had been exacerbated by Bones waking up with her head on his shoulder after dozing off on the plane. Both felt they had been doing an admirable job pretending everything was fine, but were simultaneously acutely aware of the strain of negotiating these new boundaries. Booth is driving as usual, and he finds himself trying not to stare at her. He is intrigued by the knowledge that she grew up here, and finds himself wondering what she had been like in high school, if there had ever been a time when she had not had so many walls around her.

They pull up to the crime scene – a woody area off the school's football field with a barn where the body had been found. Ever quick to get to work, Bones hops out before him, and he follows, suddenly aware that he is uncertain with what to do with his hands. Normally he'd be more relaxed, but his nerves still feel fraught, and so he shoves his hands awkwardly into his pockets. On impulse, he gives in to the desire to tease her:

"_Ever bring a boy out here and uh…"_

"_And what? Touch his genitalia? No."_

He nearly sputters – nope, still can't handle Bones talking about sexual things.

"_Whoa, 'kay. I was thinking maybe just a little smooching."_

"_I used to come out here and find animals to dissect. I didn't have a boyfriend."_

" _Well, maybe because you were cutting up little woodland creatures, maybe?"_

He knows that normally he would flash her a teasing grin, but such intimacy no longer seems appropriate, so he stares at the ground instead. Yep, she had _definitely_ still been Bones-y in high school.

* * *

As they approach the sheriff, Bones scrutinizes her face to see if she recognizes her. The odds are high that they were classmates - female, early 30s, like herself – but she can't place this woman yet. She is not paying full attention to the exchange of pleasantries between Booth and this woman as she conducts her analysis, but then she hears the sheriff say

"_Nice wheels. Nice face. And bod. Very nice."_

Immediately, Brennan snaps to attention, her eyebrow quirking in momentary disapproval. Yes, Booth is extremely aesthetically pleasing to look at, with his highly symmetrical features and his well-developed physique, but this blatant flirtation provokes a flare of possessiveness within her. She quashes this sentiment quickly, reminding herself that she has relinquished any right to object as per standard societal norms. They are friends, and if other women wish to ogle him and behave unprofessionally, that's their decision.

She glances at Booth and notes with some pleasure that he looks discomfited. She turns back to the sheriff and resumes her study before it clicks.

"_We know each other. Becky, right? I'm Temperance." _

"_Have I arrested you before hun?" _

"_No, you were my lab partner in chemistry at Burtonsville High." _

"_Are you absolutely sure? I have an excellent memory." _Bones does not miss the coy glance the woman shoots Booth.

"_Positive_. _Though you are thinner now, which is better for your cardiovascular system. In high school, you were quite overweight, hence the derision from the other students."_

Her analysis of a person's underlying bone structure is always accurate.

"_Yeah, I remember you now. The creepy girl."_

Suddenly, two and a half years of taunts, insults and general ostracism comes flooding back and she finds herself unable speak.

"_So, you're in town for the reunion?"_ Becky asks, looking at Booth instead of her.

"_Ha ha ha…reunion._"

Booth turns to her and their eyes meet, but their wordless communication seems to be failing them. This only adds to her sense of imbalance, so she reasserts herself. Remains. They are here for the remains. She can handle bones. Bones are what she does. With bones, she is confident. She is about to point out the reason for their visit when Becky proceeds to ask Booth to be her date to the reunion. She is rapidly losing patience with this woman.

"_We're just here to inspect the remains_," she says, her voice a little stilted. She hates this feeling, like nothing is right with her world.

Becky leads them to the remains and informs them that the caged raccoon before them ran into two girls with the skull on its head, Her mind considers this information and she begins to spin out a hypothesis aloud for Booth as she usually does.

"_It was probably eating the brains and the eyes. Often scavengers…"_ she is about to launch into an explanation when Becky cuts her off.

"_Don't need the details, Morticia. I'm keeping this quiet until I know what we're dealing with." _

Becky's abrupt dismissal of her, along with that hated nickname everyone had called her – Morticia – takes her aback. It has been years since her authority has been disrespected. She falls silent and turns away to continue investigating. When she realizes that the pieces may have been scattered, she informs Becky and thanks her for keeping the situation quiet. She's not quite sure why she thanks this woman who has been nothing but rude to her, but decides there is nothing to be gained from analyzing her behavior. It smacks too much of psychology.

* * *

As they walk through the woods, Booth tries to simultaneously avoid physical contact with Bones while still being a gentleman. When a branch blocks their way, he carefully reaches out to move it away from her while maintaining a safe distance from her body. He is amused at Bones' jealousy as she criticizes her former lab partner, but he knows the sheriff's attentions towards him bothered her, and truth be told, they'd left him feeling more than a little uncomfortable too.

He hadn't missed the sheriff's cool demeanor towards Bones earlier, and he certainly hadn't missed the almost mocking way she'd called Bones "Morticia." Nor had he missed the way Bones had fallen silent after that, continuing her investigation alone. He aches for her, thinking of how lonely she must have been in high school, and he wants to make things right for her. He wants her to taste sweet, sweet revenge as she waves her world-famous status in her classmates' faces. It is his duty, as her friend, to convince her to attend.

"_You gotta go to your reunion, Bones. We already flew all the way out here. "_

"_I'm not going. High school was not a happy time. For some reason, people didn't seem to like me." _

Her words confirm his suspicions. She had been the archetypal high school outcast – more pain and loneliness to compound everything she had already been through.

"_Which is exactly why you have to go now. Reunions are made for you to smear your successes in other people's faces. Your accomplishments are gonna kill 'em!"_

Yeah, he definitely wants to see her rub their smug, stupid faces in it. Big time.

* * *

A few hours later, Booth is back at the motel, chatting with Sweets about the '94 murder. At some point, he mentions that they're planning on keeping everything under wraps for now when Sweets suggests they go undercover. He thinks this is a splendid idea – since Bones is invited to the reunion, they can use her insider status to their advantage.

When Sweets corrects his Latin, he gets irritated. _Damn squints and their knowledge about useless, irrelevant topics. _He doesn't mind Bones making him feel stupid, but he isn't going to stand for it from Sweets. He moves to end the call when Sweets pipes up once more.

"_Wait, Agent Booth?"_

"_Yes, Dr. Sweets?"_

"_You and Dr. Brennan are in the same motel?" _

He does not like where this is going. What the hell? Just because they (well, she) had decided not to pursue a romantic relationship didn't mean they couldn't stay in the same freaking motel. He decides to make this point abundantly clear to Sweets, to show the psychologist that his grand plan to get Booth to break the stalemate has lead nowhere.

"_Yeah, but they are not adjoining rooms." _He picks up his laptop to drive the point home. _"Okay, Sweets? Look. They do not adjoin. See, the bathroom, and I'm uh, closer to the ice machine."_

Boy wonder still doesn't give up.

"_No, I'm merely asking because of your feelings for Dr. Brennan…"_

That does it. He snaps.

"_Alright, I get it. Alright, Sweets? I respect that, but you know what? I've moved on. I already even have a date for next week."_

He doesn't really care whether or not Sweets believes him, he just wants this conversation to end. Proving to boy wonder that he really is alone has had the adverse effect of reminding himself of the fact as well.

He flops back on his bed, massaging the crease between his eyes. Nothing feels right. Why did he bother lying about having a date? Sure, a few women have caught his eye recently, but his heart just isn't in it. For a start, none of the women are Bones. That can't be helped, but what can be helped is the sense of guilt he feels for even considering dating. His mind almost adds "another woman," but that really would be fucked up. How twisted can you get? To break up with someone without ever having dated and _still_ feel like you're cheating? He's had his fair share of Catholic guilt in his life, but this? This really is the icing on the fucking cake.

He inhales deeply. It hurts, but he can't help thinking about how different things could have been right now if she had said "yes." They could have been in bed, together, learning each other all over again. Instead, they are at opposite ends of the hall, and all he can claim is closer proximity to the ice machine. The fucking ice machine. He wouldn't care about having ice ever again if it meant that Bones was sharing his bed.

Unbidden, his mind replays a familiar fantasy. _Bones is under him, his body pressed delightfully against every inch of hers. He begins by kissing her, soft, slow kisses that gradually grow deeper, hungrier. He licks her ear, kisses her neck, delighting in the little mewling noises coming from her throat before he makes his way down that gorgeous, elegant neck of hers. _He'd never thought of necks as being elegant before, but that was before he'd met Bones. Now necks, lips, eyes, ears – they all have a ridiculous ability to turn him on because they belong to her. _His hands roam over her body, loving the feel of her doing the same. He slides a hand slowly up her chest, cupping her delectable breasts through her shirt, swiping his thumb over them. He adores her throaty moan of pleasure, and finds it only adds to his arousal. The combination of how sexy yet innocent it feels to be feeling her up like a horny teenager is almost enough to send him over the edge…_

He reaches down to undo his fly and give himself some relief when he hears a knock at the door.

* * *

After she finishes discussing identification preliminaries with Wendell, Angela and Cam, Brennan wonders what to do. Being idle is never an option, so she considers her options, finally deciding to work on her novel. She sits down at the desk, opens the document, and begins to write.

Twenty minutes later, she is getting nowhere. She leans back, eyes closed tightly in frustration. She rarely gets writer's block, but she is attempting to write a romantic scene without Angela's assistance.

That isn't the problem. The problem is that she cannot help transforming Kathy and Andy into her and Booth. It is Booth's hands she imagines impatiently undoing the buttons of her shirt, Booth's mouth she feels ravishing her own, Booth's hard body she imagines herself being pressed tightly against, desperate to increase the pressure in just the right spot…her moan startles her back to reality. She is engaging in some highly inappropriate fantasies.

Pushing back from the desk, she decides to go see what Booth is doing. It is, after all, nearing lunchtime, and she is rather hungry, and perhaps Booth is too. Grabbing her keys and purse, she locks up and heads down the hall. Knocking softly, she gets no response, so she knocks again. Inside, she hears Booth curse furiously. Concerned, she calls out:

"Booth? Are you ok?"

When he opens the door, her mouth goes slightly dry at the sight of him wearing his black FBI t-shirt and jeans. Remembering why she is here, she manages to speak.

"Are you alright? You cursed when I knocked. You didn't injure yourself did you?"

"No, I'm fine. What's up?"

His demeanor seems tense, but she is accustomed to taking Booth at face value when he says he is fine, so she does not push the matter.

"I...well, I was trying to work on my novel but I seem to be stuck, so I thought you might want to get some lunch together."

He shifts his stance slightly.

"Actually, I just talked to Sweets, and he has a potential suspect in mind. How about we head back to the school and grab a bite afterwards?"

This is an agreeable compromise, so she waits as he goes to change his shirt. Though she isn't trying to look, she cannot help but notice his broad shoulders and the smooth line of his back as he moves around the room, the door allowing her a tantalizing reminder of just how perfect his acromion process is.

Suddenly she realizes that she is gawking and should move before Booth realizes she has been staring at him. A few moments later, he emerges and they walk outside towards the car.

* * *

Turning, Booth goes to change out of his FBI t-shirt, pushing the door shut behind him. He inhales, deeply. As far as he can tell, she has not noticed the bulge in his pants. When he feels he has regained control, he opens the door fully and freezes. Bones is standing there, mouth slightly open, cheeks flushed a delicate shade of rose, pupils threatening to overwhelm her enormous blue eyes.

_Holy shit_. _Is Bones turned on? Oh sweet mercy, I think she is._

He is hard again in seconds, but forces his mind to focus on something, anything else to keep himself sane. He needs to remove himself from her presence to calm down though, so he speeds up his steps and reaches the car before her. She gets in moments later, and the two of them drive off to the school, again not knowing what to say to break the silence.

When they arrive at the school, Bones asks who they're here to see. He replies that Sweets has suggested they interview Mr. Buxley, the school custodian. When he thinks he sees the flash of a smile on Bones' face, he is baffled. He agrees with Sweets' assessment that the guy is creepy, Freddy creepy.

"_How well do you know this uh, custodian?"_

Yup, definite look of happiness and fondness.

"_Very well. He used to find dead animals for me to dissect. We used to have long discussions about death. Mr. Buxley would say that it was a natural process."_

He can't help but grin when she tells him this. She seems so enthusiastic, her face is lit up, and he is reminded why he fell so hard for her. He chuckles with delight.

"_You were Wednesday Adams!"_

"_I don't know what that means."_

He has to tease her some more. It feels too much like old times to pass up, a rare return to the past in this new, awkward present.

"_Well, in high school you had a creepy custodian as a best friends. I bet you had a pet rat, too."_

"_No, I had a mouse, and a snake, and some spiders."_

"_Wow, and you weren't popular – now that's amazing." _His tone is a little more sarcastic than he likes, but he hopes she knows that there's affection behind it.

They turn the corner and something crashes into Bones, causing her to gasp in shock. He reacts on instinct, his arm shooting out to protect her. He then proceeds to watch as once again, her former classmates treat her as a leper. It bugs him. Yeah, she was weird, but so what? She's a best-selling author, has a successful career, is the best in her field, and is the most beautiful, intelligent person he's ever met.

Still, she is Bones, and she hasn't quite nailed the art of the perfect putdown. When Brad tells her the years have been kind to her (a remark that makes him bristle slightly and think _hey, eyes to yourself, buddy_) and Julie inserts a snide remark, she immediately replies _"yes, but now I'm a wealthy author and a successful scientist." _

Internally he groans. Right, time to step in and start the undercover bit. He realizes with horror that he has not forewarned Bones. _Shit._ Well, nothing to do but hope she catches on instead of asking him what he's doing.

"_I'm uh, her husband, Bobby Kent. Temperance's lesser half."_ With that, he grabs her hand, bringing it up clasped in his own. No going back now, they're in this charade 'til the bitter end.

* * *

When they run into Brad and Julie, Brennan feels her earlier excitement at seeing Mr. Buxley evaporate. She might not have strong interpersonal skills, but even she can tell that Julie remains afraid of her when she backs away from her extended hand. She compartmentalizes the hurt, saving it to be experienced later.

She remembers Booth's words about boasting of her successes, and now seems like as good a moment as any, so when Julie contradicts Brad's compliment to her, she proudly informs them that she is now a best-selling author, a successful scientist, and extremely wealthy.

He's right. It _does_ feel satisfying. She seeks confirmation from Booth that she has achieved her objective, and is dismayed when he tells her no. Another failure, more pepper in wounds that are already open from this visit.

Suddenly, she hears Booth introduce himself as her husband, and before she can react, he grabs her hand. She manages to stay silent, but cannot help the look of confusion that crosses her face. _What the hell is he doing? _She quickly realizes they must be going undercover. Usually, she loves going undercover with Booth, but this time, not so much. The physical contact is almost painful. Brad asks them if they have any kids, and Booth tells him,

"_Oh no, not yet. But we want a houseful, right?" _

She plasters on what she hopes is a reasonably convincing smile to two individuals of inferior intelligence and comes up with the closest thing to an appropriate remark she can think of.

"_Yes, we have intercourse every chance we get." _

"_Wow. Uh, yeah, I mean, all over the place_."

She wonders why Booth sounds so stunned when he says "wow," but shoves the thought away, deep down, where it has little chance of resurfacing. Relief floods her when Julie and Brad finally leave and she and Booth can stop being pressed against each other.

Briskly, she points out that they should go see Mr. Buxley. She has a feeling that if she admits to Booth what happened between her and Evelyn all those years ago, he will tease her, and right now, she does not want to deal with that. She knows he means no harm, but his tone has been sharper, his teasing not tempered by his smiling eyes, and it stings.

* * *

They walk into the dimly lit shop and Booth is instantly on guard. This place gives him the heebies-jeebies, with its vast array of saws, knives, and other sharp pointy things. When the old man appears from nowhere, startling both of them, his hackles are raised even further. Bones though, seems positively thrilled to see Mr. Buxley. When the old guy offers them a plate of ribs, it takes every ounce of self-restraint not to break into FBI Special Agent Seeley Booth mode. He might be Bones' friend, but the man is creepy and the ribs aren't helping any. Neither is Bones' arm linked with his, tense and forced.

"_That is so sweet," _Bones exclaims at Buxley's offer to find her a dead rabbit to cut open.

Right, enough is enough.

"_No, that's not sweet." _He catches himself sounding too much like Agent Booth and not enough like Bobby Kent, so he modifies his tone. _"I mean, not now. Probably because Mr. Buxley here has to get the campus ready for the big reunion?"_ They have gotten nowhere with this guy, and his mind whirs trying to think of a way to get information without blowing their cover.

"_Yeah, I'm sure you work long hours, late into the night, probably even weekends, right? Maybe even the weekend before last? Were you working then?"_

Shit, so much for subtlety. The old man is eyeing him slightly suspiciously.

"_Why'd you wanna ask me about that particular weekend?"_

To his relief and surprise, Bones covers for him.

"_You know what? Just tell him, or he'll keep asking. He can't help it." _ She punches his shoulder playfully, but she packs some force into it. Maybe she isn't so thrilled with their undercover charade. Still, she's playing along, and by the grace of God they seem to be fooling everyone with their lie.

As it turns out, they are out of luck with Mr. Buxley, who claims to have been out of town the weekend in question buying a first edition of Bones' first novel. He's not quite sure what to make of the fact that she named the first killer after him – it makes perfect sense looking at the man, but maybe in Bones' universe making someone the murder is a sign of affection. He hovers uneasily in the background as Bones signs the guy's book.

They say their goodbyes and return to the car.

"Still hungry?" Booth asks, casually.

"Yes, food would be nice."

"What are you in the mood for?"

"I don't know. Any place that makes a salad is fine by me."

"Alright, well, I think I saw a burger joint a few miles down the highway. Is that ok?"

"Yes, that should be fine. As long as I can get a salad or something reasonably healthy to eat there."

"Right, burger joint it is."

They fall back into silence for the short drive. He hates how forced their conversation how false this whole pretense seems. It is his fault, he supposes. They'd made a dynamite couple as Roxie and Tony, and again as Wanda and Buck (the memory of how Bones had looked in that outlandish circus getup turning him all over again), but now it seemed like everything that had made them _them_ was gone, lost to a moment of madness on a dark spring night. He steals a glance at her out of the corner of his eye, and notes she is staring pensively out the window, turned away from him entirely. Sighing softly, he turns his eyes back to the road where they remain until they reach the burger joint.

* * *

They sit down opposite each other as usual, but she senses the strain between them. She longs for the easy camaraderie they have shared, but she also feels betrayed. She'd asked him if they could still work together, and he had said yes. This, however, does not feel like their partnership. This feels like some uncomfortable alliance between two near-strangers. The thought causes a pang in her chest before it is replaced by a surge of irritation. What the hell had he been thinking, having them pose as a couple without any warning?

"So, did you ever plan to tell me we were going to pose as a married couple? Or did you think surprise would be more effective? Because it is the latter, I have to say, that seems like a poor idea for an undercover operation."

She watches him slump back in his seat and pass his hand over his face before he replies.

"Look, I'm sorry about that. Sweets suggested that I should keep my FBI status under wraps, and I agreed."

"And you didn't think you should tell me this ahead of time instead of suddenly grabbing my hand in public? Her anger is now barely restrained, her voice downright icy.

"I said I'm sorry. I did mean to tell you, then I got distracted, and then forgot until we ran into Julie and Brad." He looks sheepish at this confession, and his apologetic smile softens her ire.

"Apology accepted."

"But hey," he adds, his voice softer, "you didn't do too badly out there. I mean, you caught on immediately and played along."

This makes her feel better – his tone, his look, even the compliment reassures her that on some level, there is still some hope.

She gives him a small smile. "Thank you, Booth, I appreciate that."

They fall silent for a while before he speaks up. "So, you're having trouble with your novel, huh?"

Slightly startled, she looks up and meets his eyes. "Yes. I had hoped to achieve some progress, but I seem to be unable to develop the scene to my satisfaction."

"What's it about?"

"Kathy and Andy are about to have intercourse with each other, but I am finding that I am having difficulty creating a believable scene. Angela is much better at this," she adds ruefully, "though I thought it would be best to at least try on my own."

Booth chokes on his soda.

"Oh right, any talk of sexual activity makes you highly uncomfortable."

"It doesn't make me uncomfortable," he protests, "it's just, a time and a place for everything, alright, Bones?"

At the sound of her only nickname, she smiles again, this time more freely. He has barely called her Bones this entire trip, and she realizes she misses it, misses the one voice in the world that calls her by this name in all its tones: frustrated, excited, comforting, reassuring. It amazes her how many sentiments can be conveyed by him saying her name.

This moment passes all too briefly though. As they eat in silence, she finds it difficult to focus on her salad, memories of precisely why she had found the sex scene so troublesome coming to mind once more. Her cheeks feel flushed, and she hopes Booth will not notice the telltale signs of her arousal. She rapidly finishes her salad and excuses herself. When she returns, Booth has paid and is waiting by the door.

"So, I just got a call from Sweets, and he wants to go through some information in your yearbook that he thinks might be helpful, so let's head back to the motel. "

"Why wait? I have my laptop in the car with me, and I have the secure wireless connection on a USB drive that Angela created, so we can connect right here." Truth be told, she does not want to be in the motel room alone with him, even if they are just talking to Sweets.

He gives her a strange look before agreeing. A few minutes later, they are connected to Sweets who starts giving them a profile of Evelyn. She remembers how much everyone loved Evelyn in high school, but Booth feels the need to contradict her.

"_A lot of people hated her too, for being so popular. I mean, you were the one who decked her with a tennis racket." _

His insinuation takes her by surprise – he'd said nothing when she'd explained how she'd been able to ID the victim, so why say something now, in front of Sweets? She feels defensive.

"_No, I-I-I never enjoyed playing doubles – someone is always in your way. Although my classmates thought I hit her on purpose_."

"_Well, perhaps subconsciously, you did. I mean, a girl like yourself – with marginal social standing – takes out her hostility by striking the popular girl. I mean, it is quite common." _

His words slice through her like a knife. She is reminded of those unhappy weeks, where everyone noticed her, made jokes about how they had to be careful not to push her too far or she might go psycho and kill them all. She could handle being ignored, but their words had hurt her, deeply. That Booth might think the same thing makes her want to cry, especially because he does not seem to be joking. She reasserts control over her emotions as best she can before telling him _"Okay, that sounded clinical, but felt very insulting." _

When Booth reacts with glee to her yearbook picture, she is unable to handle his teasing any longer and snaps that none of these side discussions are pertinent to the investigation. She is trying to hide how wounded she feels, because for all his knowledge of her, Booth should know that this is difficult for her. She hates to admit it, but she has come to rely on him support her when she is feeling sad or adrift, and right now when she needs him most, his teasing is cutting her to the core. All she wants is for this to be over, to retreat back into her hotel room and nurse her sorrows and then to get back to the Jeffersonian post-haste.

Mercifully, their conversation with Sweets is over soon, and they return to the hotel so that Booth can check in with the officers officially handling the case. She goes to her room, and is looking for some papers in her bag when she hears a beeping noise from the computer. It is Angela, calling to fill her in on the situation regarding Wendell, Hodgins and the pregnancy scare. She feels wholly unequipped to help, but she owes Angela for all the times she has been there as a guide, a confidante, and a friendly ear, so she does the best she can.

Glancing at the clock on the computer, she realizes she should be getting ready to leave again, so she begins putting on her boots as they talk. Angela is agonizing over the two men, and seems to be placing significance on the fact that Wendell felt it was his duty to do right by her and the baby, whereas Hodgins wanted only to be there for them. She points out that anthropologically speaking, men have historically escaped unwanted burdens by engaging in war or conquering strange lands, to which Angela replies that by this measure, Hodgins is less likely to go start a war. Something about Angela's sentiment catches her off-guard: her friend is torn between a man with a strong moral compass and a good heart, the best man she has ever known, and someone who simply wants to be with her. It is not lost on Brennan that in Booth, she has both of these men in one. Not wanting to engage this thought further, she hurriedly apologizes to Angela before leaving to meet Booth again.

* * *

As he walks between Bones and Sheriff Conway, Booth feels as though he is dealing with squabbling children instead of two grown women. He has no idea what has gotten into Bones, but it's fatiguing and annoying. She's hissing at him to ignore potentially useful information from Becky about Brad's auto shop, and then proceeds to tell him indignantly how Becky used to cheat off her chemistry tests in high school. He regrets ever thinking that a jealous Bones is an amusing thing.

They decide to go back to the hotel to get ready before they interview Carrie, and the hot shower and the change of clothes improves his mood considerably. However, when Bones shows up dressed in a simple, yet flattering dark blue dress with a deep v-neck that allows him a discreet, teasing view of her breasts, he is turned on all over again, which ironically makes him feel less good than it should.

Bones is endearing with her lack of confidence, but he doesn't have it in him to smile kindly, to gaze into her eyes to reassure her, but does his best with his words only to have his efforts rewarded by getting his Latin corrected yet again. This only worsens his mood, and he finds he has zero tolerance when that twerp, Andy Pflueger, tries to hit on Bones even after knowing she is married. He shoots the man down instantly when he queries whether their "marriage" is really "working out," and dearly wishes he could punch him in the face.

The utter falseness of their charade coupled with the tension between them is wearing him down. Plus, they don't seem to be gaining anything for enduring this special kind of surreal hell. Bones has pissed off Julie by recounting an embarrassing story, and Carrie, who has a strong motive, seems to have an alibi. And then she hits on him, and all he can manage is a _"slow down" _before he turns away. What the hell is with these people?

A bitter part of him thinks that if he and Bones were in normal mode, the mode where everyone assumes they're a couple and head-over-heels in love, not only would this investigation be going more smoothly, he wouldn't have to deal with a prickly Bones and seemingly desperate women. But he gambled and he lost, and now he has to pay his debt. And yet, he's taunted by the fact that even as he goes after her to hear what Hodgins has to say, they still connect on some level. He can't help the way his body falls perfectly into sync with hers.

Luckily, Hodgins and Wendell have a lead – chalk dust, clear coat varnish and a bandsaw, which he instantly realizes points them to the shop. They head down a darkened hallway, the echo of their footsteps sending shivers down Booth's spine. He hasn't enjoyed a moment of this trip, but the school is definitely his least favorite part. He remarks to Bones,

"_No offense but you know, I hate your school." _

As if from nowhere, weird old Mr. Buxley appears like some sort of sinister character from a horror movie.

"_Temperance should too. They never treated her good enough here."_

The old man's warning _"Careful in the dark, kids_," spooks him, and the sudden whir of a saw does little to ease his nerves. He turns his head to look at Mr. Buxley, who has once more managed to dematerialize, and when he turns around, he realizes Bones is following the noise of the saw.

"_Careful, Bones_," he calls out, hurrying off to make sure she doesn't wind up in any trouble. No matter what, he will always want to protect her.

The scene inside the shop is enough to provide Sweets with a treasure trove of psychoanalytic material. Andy Plflueger is sawing something, and as they draw closer, Booth realizes that he has just finished carving the name "Temperance." Behind him lies Evelyn, and in the wheelbarrow beside the table, a collection of the names of the female members of the class of '94. Definitely creepy. And then the little twerp has the nerve to try and hit on Bones _again_.

"_Do you like it? You're one of my girls now, Temperance. "_

When the creep gets no reply, he asks again, to Booth's immense irritation.

"_Do you like it? It's just a token of my affection. It's for you, Temperance._"

Bones thanks him politely and accepts the gift, which Booth promptly takes from her and blows the saw dust off of it directly into Andy's face, wishing like hell his eyes weren't protected by the goggles. Nobody hits on his Bones and gets away with it.

As Bones quizzes Andy about his romantic intentions towards Evelyn, he realizes that he can smell something familiar. Bleach. He mentions this to Bones as nonchalantly as possible, and Andy tells them that he returned two weeks ago to find the place spotless, which surprised him because Ray doesn't usually do such a good job.

On cue, Mr. Buxley is there, and standing half-hidden in the shadows, he seems even more sinister. Booth's spidey senses are tingling, and so he asks a little pointedly whether Mr. Buxley needs something, and is duly informed that their presence is requested in the gym.

Andy leaves, and the two of them get to work immediately, scouring the shop for the murder weapon. This feels reassuringly normal. Here they are, partners, doing what they do best – catching bad guys with science. When Bones finds what she suspects is bone dust in the computer vent and pours it delicately into a cup of water, he is fascinated. It's one of those little tricks she has up her sleeve that he loves about her. The beauty of her mind and the beauty of her body.

They join the party and begin to dance, boogeying down like two carefree adults, though he is also trying to keep an eye on Brad. Bones is almost painfully adorable when she starts dancing the Electric Slide, and he wonders how many times this woman will surprise him. She doesn't know the most basic pop culture references yet she knows the Electric Slide. Go figure.

The music stops, and a slow song begins. _Shit_. He so does not want to slow dance with her, so he hurriedly suggests getting some punch. What he does not anticipate is the way she grabs his arm.

"_Can we dance, Booth? It's Seal"_

Her request is the perfect mix of eagerness and pleading, and it sets him on edge.

"_Well, it's a slow song." _He really does not want to do this, to torture himself further by having her in his arms knowing that it's only for a few moments. She senses his discomfort and in typical Bones fashion, approaches the situation with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop.

"_Oh, I'm sorry. Is that too difficult for you?"_

_Busted. _

"_Oh, I just don't want any misunderstandings here, that's all, Bones_."

_Yeah, like you wondering why I have a hard-on from holding you in my arms_, his brain adds.

"_I mean, y'know, we uh, opened a door that neither one of us wants to walk through." _

_You are such a cowardly liar_.

She seems slightly dismayed, but accepts his explanation.

"_I know. I – I was just asking to dance. Because I remembered the song. I'm sorry."_

He wonders how and why she knows this song, and instantly feels like the biggest ass on earth. He folds.

"_Nah, you know what? Hey, it's just a dance. It's your reunion. Okay? Let's do it. Let's dance. C'mon."_

_

* * *

_

The moment Booth agrees to dance, a smile overtakes her face, genuine and full of happiness. Hearing Seal's husky voice takes her back to one of the few good memories she has of her time in the system, to an afternoon when Jimmy Anderson, foster brother in house number two, had kissed her sweetly as this song played on the radio. To share this song with Booth makes her happy, and even though he will not let her wrap her arms around his neck, her enthusiasm cannot be dampened.

As they dance, she catches him eyeing Mr. Buxley again, and asks him why he finds the man so suspicious, but does not pay attention to his answer. She is far more absorbed with studying him: his strong jaw, the light pressure of his hands on her waist, the uniquely spicy cologne that is entirely Booth to her olfactory memory. She wishes she could have more, but she refused the chance to have it, so she contents herself with this pale imitation of the real thing.

When the stars drop from the ceiling, she doesn't even realize she is crying until Booth tells her so in that gentle, sympathetic voice of the old Booth. She realizes that this is the prom she never had – Andy had asked her, but he had been creepy even then, so she had sat at home, buried in her textbooks. Yet, now she finds she does not care. She has Booth, she is in his arms, and everything is perfect. She relaxes, relishing being pressed against him, feeling the tension dissipate from his body as well. This feels so right, and she treasures it all the more knowing it will end far too soon.

As the dance ends, they break apart, and she flashes him a soft, grateful smile. They find a table to sit at and discuss the case, and she is amused to see Booth armed with what she believes is conventionally termed "a girly drink." She is watching him enjoy his pie when something occurs to her. The stars. They could have a point of 48 degrees. She gets up to examine them closer, uncaring that everyone is now staring at her. This is what she does. She uses science to solve crimes. She is back in her element, and nothing can stop her now.

* * *

Dancing with Bones isn't as painful as he'd feared, though it does take several moments to truly relax and enjoy the fleeting feel of her in his arms. It's masochistic, but he is driven by a compulsion to care for her, to shield her, to make right whatever injustices the world heaps upon her, and so he takes her into his arms. This is how it should be between them, this is how it could have been, but he'll still take these few precious minutes because they're better than nothing at all.

When they break apart, he needs a drink to calm himself – having Bones pressed up against every inch of him, her head on his shoulder, inhaling her scent, has had an inevitable effect. She does not appear to have noticed though, which is a relief.

They sit down at one of the tables, discussing whether Andy or Carrie could be the killer when Carrie stops by with pie. Pie. He can't resist pie, and as soon as he takes a bite, his attention is wholly diverted to this piece of pie. It is perfect. Flaky crust, slightly spiced apple filling, warm from the oven. Hell, even his suggestion of the murder weapon is pie-related, as he notices Carrie's serving knife, but Bones quickly dispels this notion. He vaguely registers Bones saying something about how all her classmates thought she had killed Evelyn, but mainly, his attention is on the pie. Or at least it is, until he realizes that Bones is no longer next to him, but climbing a chair to pull down a star.

_Shit. _Their cover will be blown in mere seconds, so he stumbles to his feet, pie plate still in hand. Once again though, Bones surprises him, asking her "sweetheart" to pose for a picture that she will then text to Angela for analysis.

Within ten minutes, Angela confirms the stars are the murder weapon, and Bones gets Mr. Buxley to tell her who made the stars. Once he gives her Julie's name, they have the murderer and the murder weapon, and Julie confesses her motive on her way to the squad car. It's been a strange case – he's not sure what planet of delusion you have to be living on to assume that your high school friend is going to willingly give up her marriage and her life with her husband because of a fifteen year pact, but he's all to aware of the mundane things people will kill for.

Another case solved, another murderer brought to justice. He likes knowing that despite the awkwardness, they are still a team.

* * *

Julie's rationale for murdering both Sarah and Evelyn makes no sense to her. She knows better than to be surprised by now, after so many years, at the reasons why people kill for love. Not only does it not make sense, it scares her. How can something that people laud as a desirable emotional state drive a person to callously butcher their best friend?

It is why she is running from what she feels for Booth, telling herself that she cannot change. If this is what being in love can do to a person, she does not want it. This kind of change is scary, unpredictable, and wholly irrational. Love, or whatever she feels for him has already changed her, and that is frightening enough.

No evidence points to love being a good thing, nothing proves that it does not inevitably end with heartache, pain, or loss. So isn't it easier to just be alone? At least, this is what she tells herself to reassure that nagging voice inside that tells her she made a mistake running from him so quickly. Still, they have made it through their first case together after That Night, and she hopes that things will slowly return to where they were before, that the change wreaked that night hasn't been irrevocable. She hopes because it is all she has left to do.


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N: I am terribly sorry for the horrendous delay in getting this up, but here it is, in honor of Shark Week to boot ;). I will do my level best to wrap this up before the season premiere. I'd like to thank all of you who've favorited/alerted this story, but it's kind of sad that I've only gotten four reviews. I promised myself that I wouldn't beg for reviews, but they do truly make my day and give me encouragement to keep going. Also, I do not own Bones. Dialogue in italics is from the show, the rest is my inspired filled-in blanks._**

* * *

Two relatively quiet weeks had passed since their trip up to Burtonsville to catch the reunion killer. The mound of paperwork on Booth's desk has diminished considerably since then, and though he misses Bones' presence, he is also grateful for the reprieve. The sting of her rejection is still enough to send him into a foul mood for hours if he lets his mind go there.

A knock on his door interrupts his concentration, and he looks up to see Hacker standing in the doorway.

"Agent Booth, a moment, please?"

"Certainly sir, what's going on?"

Booth knows that Bones and Hacker had rescheduled their failed date because Hacker had seen fit to inform him of the fact. Ever since then, he's been largely successful in avoiding the man. No sense in adding insult to injury.

"A call just came in from some squint over at NOAA specifically requesting that you and Temperance help on a case."

Booth does not like the way Bones' name rolls off of Hacker's lips. It's not only too familiar, it seems to lack respect somehow. He'd prefer it if the guy called her Dr. Brennan like the rest of the world. Then again, he'd really prefer it if his boss had nothing to do with Bones at all, but clearly, that's not happening any time soon.

"NOAA?" Booth is puzzled. He's aware of most of the Federal acronyms, and if memory serves, he usually hears about NOAA during hurricane season, so he can't figure out why they need an FBI agent and a forensic anthropologist, but there must be a body involved somehow.

"Yeah, no idea on the details yet, but a squint from NOAA will meet us at the Jeffersonian. I thought I'd head over there with you."

"You're coming with me, to the Jeffersonian?" He repeats Hacker's words to make sure he hasn't misunderstood.

"Yeah, I thought I should be involved, you know, Federal interagency cooperation and all that."

"Right, sure."

Hacker's pathetic attempts to impress Bones really grate at him. He does his level best to conceal his displeasure, and hopes like hell that his boss isn't good at reading vocal or body language cues.

Twenty minutes later, they arrive at the Jeffersonian, where they are met by Bones and by a woman who introduces herself as Dr. Catherine Breyer. He is immediately struck by her good looks, and can't help but admire the view in front of him as her shapely ass moves under her tight black pencil skirt. He feels slightly guilty – after so many years of covertly trying not to admire Bones' figure, this feels almost brazen. When Dr. Breyer flashes him a smile with a deep dimple, blue eyes locked firmly on his and tells him she's glad there are still law enforcement officers like himself out there who care about their victims, he is a goner. He's so taken with her that he misses Hacker's mangling of NOAA and barely even registers Bones' pathetic excuse for the guy except that it gives him the opportunity to make a joke.

"_Well, everybody likes to laugh, except that guy,"_ he cracks, gesturing towards the body.

Catherine gives a polite chuckle but quickly resumes eye contact with him, and he can't help checking her out, his gaze flitting appreciatively over her fine form. Before he knows what is happening, he's trying to impress her like some gawky teenager. Hacker makes some ridiculous comment about how he's seen "Temperance" ID a victim just off of fingernail clippings, and when Bones protests that she has never done such a thing, he feels the need to elaborate further.

"_Well, maybe not that, but y'know, things like that. She's my partner. I'm sure we could help you out."_ A raised eyebrow and another charm smile earn him an _"I'd be grateful"_ from Catherine, and all his addled brain can say is _"Yeah. Sweet." _

When his eyes meet hers once more, the rest of the world suddenly fades to nothingness before some part of his brain suddenly remembers they are in the middle of the Jeffersonian, and both Bones and Hacker are giving him curious looks. He reluctantly tears his gaze away, making some excuse about getting out of the way but can't bring himself to turn his back on this gorgeous woman and so walks out backwards, crashing into the stretcher. He walks out with a grin plastered on his face, hoping that he doesn't seem too awkward.

* * *

Brennan notices Dr. Breyer's interest in Booth almost immediately. She may not be an expert at reading people, but any anthropologist worth their salt recognizes the basic signs of human sexual interest, especially when confronted with an attractive alpha-male specimen like Booth. Andrew, in comparison, pales, which makes her oddly defensive. When he mangles the meaning of NOAA, calling it the _"National Atmos-Ocean Admiral Association," _she feels the irrational need to prove his worthiness as a choice of partner, and praises his ability to put people at ease. She is pleased when her efforts are rewarded by a smile, which she returns.

At first, Dr. Breyer's behavior and her flirtatious smile do not bother her. She trusts Booth to be professional. After all, she is standing right in front of him, as is Hacker, and Booth is very conservative about matters of sex. Except that he does respond, in a highly foolish manner to boot, batting his eyes at her and flashing her his charm smile (this particularly rankles). When he makes light of the work they do, she feels even more betrayed. She has always believed in the deeper purpose of what she does, what they do, providing not only identities for victims and closure for families, but helping to catch murderers. She has held this sense of duty close to her heart since the day she promised him she would help him level his cosmic balance sheet, and to hear him using it to impress some strange woman cheapens it all.

His joke about the victim causes a flare of anger. Booth has never once disrespected a victim's remains in any way, and yet, in the face of an attractive woman, suddenly he finds it okay. She certainly doesn't miss the way Booth's eyes flick over Dr. Breyer's body, blatantly admiring her, and she sees her surprise and shock at his behavior mirrored in Andrew's raised eyebrows. She struggles to compartmentalize and largely succeeds, until Booth leaves them, his reluctance to be parted from Dr. Breyer obvious. Once he is gone, she cannot help but slide a discreet glance at Catherine, her eyes filled with jealousy.

_Control yourself_, her inner voice tells her, _this is not the time or the place_. She obeys, as she always does, and is grateful when she hears Andrew say _"Shall we?" _

"Yes," she replies, "why don't you and Dr. Breyer follow me to the platform, and I will begin my preliminary analysis of the bones." She turns, and they follow her as she swipes them into the secured area. "This way," she says, gesturing to them to come over to the examination table.

She stands over the remains, feeling a familiar comfort wash over her. Nothing has changed since that day that she told Angela how she knew Cleo Eller without ever having met the girl. Her gaze sweeps quickly over the meager remains, her mind working at lightening speed to form preliminary findings.

"_The victim is likely male," _she tells Dr. Breyer and Andrew. _"These shallow cuts and deep gouges, in conjunction with location of recovery are likely indications of cause of death_," she continues, indicating some of the markings along the bones. _"We need to count osteons to determine age, but the length of the tibia indicates a height of between 5' and 5'6"._

She points out the six ridge dermal denticles along the bone shards and then proceeds to point out other marks that Dr. Breyer identifies as tiger shark, red snapper, and a hammerhead. Though it's not professional, she cannot help smirking internally at Dr. Breyer's obvious confusion at the findings. _She_ is never wrong, because bones don't lie. It's not her job to make sense of the fact that the man has marks from four or five different predators on his leg.

When Andrew suggests the aquarium as the likely murder site, she beams at him. She isn't really impressed; truth be told, she had been testing Dr. Breyer to see if she reached the obvious realization that the types of marine life involved in the attack and their natural habitats could not coincide anywhere but in an aquarium. Andrew tells her he'll inform Booth of her findings, and Dr. Breyer goes to go coordinate with the Baltimore Aquarium. She finds herself suddenly alone, with little work to be done, so she decides to go to her office. Witnessing the obvious flirtation between Booth and Dr. Breyer hurts, and she feels the need to retreat in order to process her emotions and master them.

She sits down at her desk, eyes closed tightly, hands on the desk. She inhales, deeply. She feels the air filling her lungs, stretching her muscles, the tension building to a satisfying peak before she exhales slowly. She does this several times, the rhythmic in and out of her breath calming her, allowing her to refocus.

_You knew this would happen_, her rational side asserts. _He gave you a chance, you walked away, and he told you he had to move on. And now he is, and so are you. This is what you wanted, isn't it?_

The doubts she has had since that night have not abated. If anything, the voice in her head sounds snider, harsher, as time passes. Her emotional side asserts that Booth could not possibly possess the depth of feeling everyone else seems so certain he held for her, that if he truly did love her, he would have said so, instead of just asking for a chance. If he did love her, then how can he move on so soon? Yet, deep down, she knows she is being wholly unreasonable, which frustrates her even more. She is not used to being unreasonable. Or jealous. Or emotional. And yet, since that night, she has experienced all these emotions at an alarming frequency.

A knock at her door causes her to look up to see Angela standing there, a determined expression on her face. The look on her face indicates she is here to talk and will brook no opposition to the idea. Her friend is scrutinizing her with a look that is equal parts concern and pity.

"Ange, I…" her voice trails off. She has kept silent on the events of that night, but she feels almost desperate to confide in Angela. Angela and Booth are the two people she feels have ever seen past the façade she presents to know her. It is a far cry from the days where nobody in the world cared or understood her.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" Angela asks, coming to sit on the couch, patting a spot beside her.

"How do you know something's wrong, Angela?"

"Because, sweetie, I know you, and I know Booth, and I have eyes, and my eyes tell me that things are not ok between the two of you."

"I don't know where to begin." She feels overwhelmed and confused, and it's all too much to deal with – she is never good with emotions, particularly her own.

"Start at the beginning," Angela replies, encouragingly.

She takes a deep breath.

"It all happened three weeks ago. Sweets gave us a copy of his manuscript, and I noted a significant factual error. He believed that the Cleo Eller case was the first time Booth and I worked together, which is incorrect."

Angela nods. She continues.

"Sweets then asked us to recount everything that happened during the first case to see if his ridiculous theory would hold up, and so we began to tell him about everything, and when it was over, he insisted that one of us had to break this stalemate, that one of us had to take the first step towards bringing our supposed feelings for each other into the open, and he started talking to Booth, telling him he was the gambler, that he should do it."

"Alright, and then what happened?"

"We left Sweets' office and started walking, when suddenly Booth stops, and says that he wants to give us a chance, that he has always known that we belong together, that we could have the kind of relationship" (the word love feels too raw to use) "that could last for thirty, or forty, or fifty years."

She turns to gauge Angela's reaction and sees that her mouth is slightly agape.

".God." She finally breathes out. "So what did you say to him?"

"I told him I can't do it. I can't, Ange. I can't lose him. I can't hurt him. I can't change who I am, and Booth deserves someone who can return his feelings with the same certainty, and I can't guarantee that I will feel the same way about him next year – how can I manage fifty years? I can't hurt him, he's too good for that, and so I told him no, because I have to protect him from me."

This admission brings tears to her eyes. Admitting her shortcomings has never been easy, but this particular fault hurts more than most because it does not seem fixable, and yet, fixing it could bring an unimaginable level of happiness.

Angela notices her tears and gathers her into a welcome hug, squeezing her before releasing her. She feels Angela's scrutiny before her friend begins to speak again.

"Look, sweetie. I can't change your mind. But I will say this. You underestimate your capacity to love. You can love. You do love. You just have to stop being afraid of it. And let me tell you, the kind of understanding you two have? The way you know each other, know the darkest parts of each other and still care? That's love. That's the kind of love that most people never experience, but you two, you are in love even if you don't or won't say the words. Actions speak louder than words, Bren, and both of you have shown, repeatedly, that you love each other. But only you can decide to take that risk, to let yourself love and to be loved openly."

Angela's words impact her strongly. She tries to breathe, but feels an overwhelming sensation of constriction in her chest, just as she did that night. It is a relief, talking with Angela, but she is equally glad when Angela gets up to leave, but not before offering some last words of advice.

"You know, Bren, you can try to substitute in Hacker or some other guy who won't make you feel as much as Booth does, who doesn't make you have to confront things you feel unready or incapable of dealing with, but you deserve better than that. I just hope you can realize that one day."

With that, Angela turns and leaves her office, and she is left alone with her thoughts. Confusing, bewildering, thoughts. Getting up from her desk, she decides to go to the one place where she is always certain, where she can feel like herself again - Limbo.

* * *

He feels ridiculous, like a giddy teenager instead of a grown man in his late thirties, but he can't help himself. It has been so long since he flirted openly with a woman who is clearly interested that he's almost forgotten what it feels like. It's been too long, he tells himself, so he's going to revel in it.

As he thinks back to that morning, he winces, remembering how he bumped into the gurney. Still, Catherine had flashed him a smile as he'd turned to say goodbye, and this buoys his spirits. His conscience pricks slightly when he realizes he'd been flirting so openly in front of Bones, but he reassures himself with her lack of response. It hadn't been good form to flirt in front of the boss, though, and he makes a mental note to avoid doing that again.

As if on cue, Hacker materializes in his office.

"Agent Booth?"

He snaps to attention.

"Yes, sir?"

"I thought I'd update you on Temperance's findings."

Booth schools his expression into neutrality, but finds he is still irked by the familiar use of Bones' name.

"What did she find, sir?"

"Well, it seems as though the victim was attacked by several species of fish including a hammerhead shark, which Dr. Breyer says can't be found so far north."

"So the victim was likely killed at the aquarium," he guesses, putting two and two together. Hacker looks a little put out by his theory, and the reason why is revealed when he admits he reached the same conclusion. Once again, Booth finds himself underwhelmed by his boss' skills.

"Anyways, you continue working on whatever you've got at the moment, and I'll get in touch with the people at the aquarium and make arrangements for you and Temperance to check out the scene tomorrow."

"Really sir, it's ok, I can do that."

He sees through Hacker instantly. This is like the time the squints had been taken hostage and kept under lockdown and Hacker had come charging in to "save the day."

"Nah, it's fine. Sometimes these things require an executive touch. Besides, I'm sure you have more than enough to do" – he nods his head in the direction of the pile of paperwork. "And it's good to keep the old skills sharp."

He grits his teeth in frustration.

"Appreciate it, sir. Is there anything else?"

The guy really needs to leave his office before he says or does something he regrets. Fortunately, Hacker leaves, allowing him to sulk. He knew that working with Bones after _that night_ would not be easy, but they'd done a decent job of managing the ensuing awkwardness. What he resents is Hacker's need to tag along and show off to Bones. He did _not_ sign up for this.

Sighing deeply, he turns his attention back to the paperwork, trying to ignore the impulse to drop by the Jeffersonian to pick up Bones for an impromptu lunch. That was then and this is now.

* * *

Brennan awakes the next day to the perfect Washington spring morning – sunny, with a slight breeze. As she stands on her fire escape with her coffee, she feels refreshed. Last night had been productive – she'd managed to identify some remains and then written an entire chapter of her next book, and then for the first time in ages, slept reasonably well. The tulips and daffodils bobbing in the window boxes along her street make her smile, adding to her sense of well-being. Yesterday's hurts are buried. She resolves to be happy for Booth, to support him as he did her, a fact of which she is acutely aware.

Her phone beeping summons her into the living room.

"_Morning, Bones. I'll be by in twenty to pick you up to go to the Baltimore Aquarium._"

He rarely messages her, preferring instead to call. The sadness she feels from his more distant contact suddenly threatens to overwhelm her resolve. Shaking her head to clear the unwelcome sentiments, she gets ready, and then heads down to wait for Booth.

Ten minutes later, he pulls up. They exchange brief pleasantries before lapsing into the silence that pervades most of their non-case moments these days. The tension breaks when the morning rush hour gridlock provides an acceptable topic of conversation. Booth grouses about incompetent drivers and the inevitable traffic snarls of the Beltway. She, in turn, lectures him on the absurdity of expecting that heavy traffic volumes combined with an inherent tendency to selfishness would result in anything other than a massive jam. Suddenly everything feels right again. They are not broken, merely slightly off-kilter. The thought reassures her.

The journey takes nearly an hour and a half owing to a particularly nasty accident, and Booth announces their arrival as he pulls into a parking spot. She gets out and walks around the car to meet him. She is acutely aware of the absence of his hand placed on the small of her back, noticing that it hangs at his side. Nor does it escape her attention how their bodies keep accidentally brushing against each other as they walk.

As they discuss the case, she is surprised by Booth's apparent knowledge of sharks. He informs her that it is television week about sharks, but does not elaborate further. She misses that, the warm, joking way in which he filled in the gaps in her pop culture knowledge. She knew, when she turned him down, that she was losing something, but the magnitude of how much she lost is only now becoming apparent. As if to emphasize the point, there is suddenly a distance between their bodies. These are the thoughts that flit through her mind as they stand, side by side, gazing at the shark that drifts in front of them.

She is interrupted when Dr. Marilyn Stoddard comes to meet them, and once again, she introduces herself, since Booth has apparently become incapable of doing it for her. She regains control by asking, briskly, if anyone had been eaten in the aquarium over the weekend, and she resents the skeptical scoff of amusement that Dr. Stoddard gives her. And then, faster than she can blink, she and Booth are back to normal again.

"_Since when do fish have husbands?"_

"_Animal husbandry is the science of breeding livestock._"

"_Since when are fish livestock?"_

"_Well, the term can be applied loosely."_

Booth begins to question Dr. Stoddard, and she steals glances at him on the off chance that their eyes will meet and they will share a moment of silent insight. She still dislikes the way in which Dr. Stoddard dismisses her questions, for no matter how ridiculous they sound, someone died here. When the grouper spits out a human skull, she feels a tiny surge of vindication. She is Bones, and her bones never lie.

Booth seems less than pleased however – admittedly, securing this crime scene poses additional challenges, but she is more than up to the task of collecting the necessary forensic evidence. She has done some of the most challenging dives in the world – what is a six hundred thousand gallon tank? Booth, however, seems to have other ideas.

"_Ok, now who's gonna go in there and get that?" _

She shoots him a look, which he misses.

"Well, naturally I will retrieve the remains."

"What?" His tone is startled. "Nah, no Bones, there's no need for that."

" Why not? This is hardly a dangerous crime scene, I'm not asking for a gun, and besides, who do you trust more to handle the remains? Me? Or some fumbling FBI tech?"

His frown indicates that she has won this argument. She excuses herself to go call Hodgins to come and assist her.

"Hodgins."

"Dr. Hodgins, this is Dr. Brennan."

"What's up? Got any particulates for me?"

"Not quite. I'm at the aquarium with Booth, and despite the assertions of the doctor who works in animal husbandry that they would have noticed someone being eaten by a shark, a grouper just coughed up a human skull. I need to not only retrieve the skull, but to search the tank for any other human remains. Given that the tank is approximately six hundred thousand gallons, your assistance would be highly beneficial."

"Sweet. I'll grab dive gear and meet you there in about an hour."

She returns to where Booth is standing with Dr. Stoddard, casually seeking information from her. She maintains her distance, not wanting to interrupt him, and her position allows her to admire him more fully. Even now, after five years as partners, she is amazed at how easily he gets information from people. How he knows exactly what questions to ask, how people open up to him. It is a trait she envies, one that she has studied endlessly through observation, and yet it remains something that not even the most diligent study has been able to teach her. She has improved, yes, but she will never be as good as him.

Hodgins arrives in record time, and after he greets Booth, the two of them go off to don their scuba gear. When they return, fully suited up, Booth is waiting for them. He sees them and walks over to them, his voice full of worried concern.

"_Okay, you know what? You don't have to go in, Bones."_

Irrational, but comforting nonetheless.

"_Yes I do! We need to recover what's left of the victim to have any hope of identification,"_she retorts. Gratifying though his concern is, his alpha male protective instincts are also highly annoying.

"_Time out, okay? Have Hodgins do it." _

Her argument is interrupted by Hodgins' strange notion that they need a boat to retrieve the remains from the tank and his absurd hat, but Booth will not be dissuaded.

"_Make Hodgins go in there and do it." _

"_There is nothing to be afraid of, Booth." _

Honestly, maybe that shark week he referenced earlier is not such a good thing if it produces a mindless fear of being eaten by sharks.

Thankfully, Hodgins sees her point.

"_Yeah, you know, sharks – they don't eat people." _

Booth remains unconvinced.

"_Really? Tell that to the guy who got, y'know, coughed up by a grouper, okay?"_

Fortunately, Booth seems to give in, accepting defeat once more. Diving into the water feels wonderful – she has not had the opportunity to go diving in years, and the calm, tranquil atmosphere of the tank soothes her. The sound of Booth's voice in her earpiece is strangely intimate, his anxiousness palpable.

"_Bones. Bones, you there?"_

"_We're right here, Booth," _she reassures him. _"This is beautiful. Hodgins, I'll get the skull, you see if there's any other bone particulates."_

She obtains the skull and places it in the bag, when something catches her eye.

"_Hodgins. Over here." _

She swims down to get a closer look – it is the remainder of their victim's skeleton. With some difficulty, Hodgins helps her lift the remains to the surface before finishing his own sample taking, and then they are done.

Booth drives her back to the Jeffersonian, and accompanies her inside, but they barely say a word until he's about to leave.

"Hey, Bones, how about we meet later to go through the potential list of victims? I should have a full list of everyone in the aquarium by about lunch time."

"That should be acceptable," she replies. "I will begin examining the remains immediately."

"Great. So I'll see you later, then."

"Yes," she affirms.

"Alright then, see ya, Bones."

With that he turns and leaves, and she begins her work, studiously ignoring the expression on Cam's face. If she can just focus on the work instead of the tumult of feelings inside her, all will be fine.

* * *

After the aquarium trip, Booth finds himself back at his desk. In theory, he has paperwork to be doing, but he cannot focus. Lately, it seems he's been spending more time than ever inside the Hoover Building. He'd never realized just how much time he spent at the Jeffersonian, at the diner, or out in the field until now, when two thirds of his reasons for being out of the office have disappeared.

He decides to take a breather and take a walk down the hall, and when he returns to his office, he is hugely surprised to see Catherine approaching. Maybe this day is about to get better.

"_Hi."_

"_Hi! I thought I would stop by and see if you've made any progress today."_

Her admission that she has stopped by expressly to see him strokes his ego, though he tries to play it cool.

"_Oh, well, yeah. Dr. Brennan, she's still working on the identification."_

"_Wow."_

"_It's what we do." _

"_Do you mind if I ask you a question?" _

He invites her into his office, and feels the need to clarify that it is his office, hoping she will be impressed. She indulges him.

"_It's very nice." _

"_Yeah, right?."_

"_Yeah. I was wondering if you wanted to go out sometime? Maybe this weekend? Unless, of course, I'm a suspect, because I know you can't date me if I'm a suspect, right?"_

He turns to face her, unable to contain the surprise on his face. Her question, her forthrightness, catches him completely off-guard.

"_I…I can't date anyone who's a suspect," _he manages to say.

"_I understand." _

"_Yeah, right? It's FBI, rules, and regulations." _He tries to sound casual, jokey.

"_Yeah," _Catherine replies, her tone a whisper, a hint of disappointment in it. He turns to go back to his desk, then reconsiders. What the hell, right? He's decided to move on, and here's the perfect opportunity. He faces her again.

"_But, um, y'know, when we're done with you, um, you know, I can give you a call. And uh, you can go out with me, or I can go out with you."_

Though he knows he sounds like an idiot, Catherine does not laugh at him, but merely grins, her dimple deepening, her blue eyes sparkling with laughter.

"_How about both?" _

"_Hey, look at that!" _he laughs.

"_Well, I'm looking forward to not being a suspect," _she tells him, her amusement barely concealed.

"_I am, too,"_ he tells her, and he is surprised to find the sentiment is reasonably true.

He moves out from behind his desk towards her again.

"_Let me know if you hear anything more about the identification_."

"_Yeah. Yeah, I will." _

"_Alright,"_she replies, and he does not miss the quick flick of her appreciative glance up and down his body before she turns to leave.

"_Bye."_

"_Bye." _She walks out with a soft smile on her face that hints at more, and he watches her leave, his legs suddenly feeling like jelly. He bumps into his desk, grabbing it for support. He's got it bad.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, he is with Bones at the diner. The energy between them is amicable, but anyone who knows them would instantly sense the subtle undercurrent of tension. Still, at least they are getting work done, trying to piece together a timeline of evidence.

His phone rings, and he is less than thrilled to hear Hacker on the other end.

"_This NOAA thing is turning into a full-fledged investigation."_

He resists the urge to point out that generally, when a dead body is found in suspicious circumstances, a full investigation is the result. His already irked state is heightened when Bones asks him to convey her greetings to Hacker. When Hacker asks him to return the greeting and inform Bones, on his behalf, that he is looking forward to their date, his remaining patience snaps.

"_Did you two want to speak to each other, or is there something that you wanted to tell me, sir?"_ The term of respect is ground out with every ounce of self-preservation he has inside. Luckily, the answer is negative, and Hacker tells him that Jazz Gunn, the famous self-help author, is unaccounted for. When he hangs up, Bones immediately asks,

"_What did he say?" _

His mind though, is still preoccupied with the idea that his boss has scored yet another freaking date, and he doesn't realize what he's saying until it's too late.

"_Oh, he's looking forward to our date. Your date."_

Damnit, he swears silently. This is exactly where he did not want the conversation to go. But this is Bones, and she doesn't think about things like this.

"_So am I. He emailed me, and said he had tickets to a play."_

No such luck.

"_He emailed you? For a play?"_

He can't help scoffing. How lame is this guy?

"_I believe that 'a play' is Andrew's code for sex."_

She is speaking in a low tone that should not be sexy, but is. He hates how proud she looks figuring out Hacker's 'code.' He also hates entertaining the thought that Hacker wants to jump into bed with Bones. That she might let him kills him. She seems to sense his discomfort, and to her credit inquires,

"_Is it okay for us to talk like this?"_

Okay? Yes. Pleasant? No. But he knows her, so he swallows his discomfort and reassures her as nonchalantly as he possibly can.

"_Well, when he invited me to the play, I thought it was code for sex, so I said no."_

Thank God for small mercies.

"_Oh."_

"_But I said yes to coffee."_

"_Maybe that's a code."_

"_Uh uh, Angela said that coffee isn't code for anything."_

She better be damn certain of that, he thinks. Suddenly feeling a bit put out by this news, he decides to play hardball to see how she reacts.

"_Ah. Well, I have a date too."_

"_Good."_

He is too observant to miss the slight pause before she replies, and the tiny flicker of something that he can see in her eyes does not go unnoticed either. It is not good, and that pleases him. He pushes harder.

"_Catherine Breyer."_

"_Everyone at the aquarium is a suspect."_

Her tone is a little curt.

"_And once she's eliminated as a person of interest…"_

Bones cuts him off immediately, changing the subject. He has gotten to her. This satisfies him.

"_Why did Andrew call?"_

Right, the real reason they got into this conversation.

"_Oh. Um, number 19 on the list isn't accounted for."_

He hands her the list, and she looks it over then looks back up at him.

"_Jazz Gunn?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_What a ludicrous name."_

He can't help give her an "are you serious?" look – he knows she lives under a rock, but sometimes it's still hard to fathom how wrapped up in her own world she is.

"_You don't know who that is?"_

"No, am I supposed to?"

She sounds slightly irritated.

"I just thought that maybe you might have heard of him, that's all."

She fixes him with one of her inscrutable looks, which he avoids by calling Sweets.

"Sweets? Yeah, it's Booth. Listen, I need you to pull anything you've got on Jazz Gunn. Great, thanks. We'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"Who is this ridiculously named man?"

"You'll see when we get to Sweets' office," he tells her.

Again, he catches a glimmer of what might be disappointment in her eyes, but ignores it and his guilty conscience. They pay the bill and leave, heading to Sweets' office for what he imagines will be an interesting meeting once Bones learns all about Jazz Gunn and his rules of the sea.

* * *

They meet for lunch to work on the case, and Brennan finds she is grateful for the interruption. She has always prided herself on being a diligent worker, but the absence of their shared lunches and coffees seems glaring these days. She wonders when spending so much time outside the lab and enjoying it had become such a significant part of her day.

They are interrupted by a call from Hacker. She thinks it polite to convey her greetings to him, though she is surprised when Booth relays the message to her that Hacker is excited for their date. She is too, at least, to a point. He is nice, and the time they spend together is pleasant.

She shares her hunch that Hacker had been angling for sex by inviting her to a play, but suddenly senses that Booth seems ill at ease. Sensitive to his feelings, she asks if it is acceptable to talk freely about this with him.

Even though it isn't his business, she wants him to know that she is not sleeping with Hacker and turned down his invitation to the "play." He is nice, yes, but she does not feel any raw attraction, and so she is in no rush to advance their relationship. And then, without warning, he informs her that he, too, has a date. With Dr. Breyer.

She is stunned. Twice now, she has witnessed Booth tossing aside his usual behavior. She would never have expected this from him, and hearing the phrase _"And once she is eliminated as a person of interest…" _stings her, sharply. The voice in her head returns with a vengeance, mocking her. Quickly, she diverts her eyes away from Booth's, lest he discern her true feelings, and redirects the conversation back to work.

"_Jazz Gunn?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_What a ludicrous name." _

"_You don't know who that is?"_

She is annoyed that after all this time, Booth assumes she knows the name of some insignificant pop culture figure. Surely repeated instances of observing her lack of knowledge in this area over the years has taught him _something_. And again, he does not explain who this stupidly named man is, but tells her to wait until they get to Sweets' office, so she does.

Thirty minutes later, she remains wholly unimpressed with the gullibility of human nature that has catapulted Mr. Gunn into the spotlight, but more angry at this man who has so obviously lied with his preposterous story to shear people of their money. Still, the session hasn't been a complete waste of time. She is able to confirm that the victim's skull is an approximate visual match for Mr. Gunn, and they net a potential suspect, Tad Benedict. Booth leaves to go bring in Mr. Benedict for questioning, and she goes back to the Jeffersonian to continue working on the remains.

* * *

Later that evening, Booth threads his way through the crowd inside Founding Fathers, bringing with him his beer and Cam's Long Island Iced Tea. He sets the drinks down and takes his seat opposite her, wondering what is going on, though he has a pretty good inkling. He has known Cam long enough to know that she has razor sharp observation skills and has summoned him here for a reason. Still, he figures it's better to play it cool and not give away anything unless strictly necessary.

"So Cam, what's up?" he asks, casually, taking a sip of his beer.

"Oh, I think you know exactly what's up," she replies, fixing him with a level gaze.

"I'm not a mind reader, _Camille_," he teases.

"And I'm not an idiot, _Seeley_," she shoots back.

He sighs.

"Is it that obvious?"

"About as obvious as being smacked in the face by a 2x4, yeah."

He knows she can read the obvious misery written across his face because her expression and her tone soften as she asks, "What happened?"

He takes a deep breath and tells her everything. To her credit, she doesn't bat an eyelid when he tells her of that night, six years ago, standing on a bar stoop in the rain. When he tells her about his gamble outside the Hoover Building on a cool spring evening three weeks ago, she says nothing. When he finishes relaying the source of his pain and sadness, he looks at Cam, a sorrowful expression on his face.

"What do I do, Cam?"

"I don't know, Seeley. I mean, what more can you do? She has changed. You know that, I know that, everyone who has known her for the past five years knows that. But if she doesn't see that or doesn't believe that, what can you do? Look, I'm very fond of Dr. Brennan, but you know as well as I do that once she forms an opinion, there's no changing her mind."

He shrugs his shoulders in a half-hearted, defeated way.

She continues. "I know you're in love with her, but at least try to make an honest attempt to move on. For your own sake."

"Yeah, I know. I am trying – Catherine – Dr. Breyer – came by my office this afternoon and said she'd like to go out with me – once she's no longer a suspect, of course," he adds, hastily, lest Cam get the wrong impression.

She gives him an encouraging smile, and this reassures him that he is doing the right thing in giving this a shot. It buoys his spirits considerably, and the two of them finish drinking their beers as they talk about the other concerns of their lives: Parker, Michelle, Jared and Padme. By the time Booth leaves the bar, he feels much more at ease with his decision. He has always put stock in Cam's sensible opinion, and her approval means more to him than he had realized.

* * *

The rest of the case speeds by as the pieces begin to fall into place. The murderer turns out to be a fourth grade teacher suffering from fibromyalgia, angry at discovering that her idol had taken her money and was nothing but a fraud. Booth obtains their confession, Ms. Redmon is arrested, and their work is done. When they are finished, Booth walks her to the elevator.

"_I'm going to have coffee with Andrew," _she tells Booth.

"_Alright. Have a good time." _ His lack of reaction and apparent ease with the topic comforts her. The last thing she wants is to cause him more pain than she already has.

"_Thank you." _

"_I'm going to see someone too."_

She plasters a smile on her face.

"_Dr. Cathering Breyer." _ Suddenly she feels very awkward.

"_The case is closed," _he replies.

"_She's very nice. The two of you seem compatible."_ What she really means is that they seem to have an apparent shared physical interest in each other. To her surprise, Booth is somewhat reticent about the idea.

"_Maybe. We'll see." _

"_She's easily as pretty as I am. I mean, using me as a standard."_

She's not quite certain why she says this, but it is true, objectively speaking. Her words seem to have a curious impact on Booth, however, as he looks down, then looks at her intently, his voice hushed and serious.

"_Bones, you are the standard."_

She cannot dwell on what this means, not now, so she forges ahead.

"_Andrew is not as handsome as you – using you as a standard. He is, however, taller. Catherine isn't as smart as I am." _ She refrains from adding that Hacker comes up deficient in essentially every comparison she can and has run between the two of them.

"_I'm not as smart as Hacker." _

She does not contradict him, but uses his own words to convey to him that she thinks nothing is further from the truth.

"_But you once said he was a doofus." _

"_He is a doofus. A smart doofus." _

The elevator opens and she steps in, facing him.

"_Well, I hope you have a good time together." _She does hope so. At least, she thinks she does.

"_Yeah, you too."_

"_Thanks."_

She manages a half-smile as the doors close, ignoring the crushing sensation in her chest. These emotions are exhausting. Life was easier when she didn't allow herself to feel so deeply.

These thoughts preoccupy her as she walks, but she pushes them away as she reaches the diner, determined to give Andrew her full attention. After a few moments of conversation, he reaches in to embrace her across the table, kissing her politely on the cheek. She tries hard not to dwell on the fact that the kiss produces nothing within her compared to the veritable inferno Booth managed to incite in her with the most innocent touches.

She feels uncertain about how to proceed, and so blurts out the first thing that comes to mind (it would be too much like psychology to ponder _why_ this is the first thing that comes to mind), which happens to be how Booth is now free to have sex with Dr. Breyer. As she clarifies her comment upon seeing Andrew's puzzled expression, she suddenly realizes something else. Lines. Rules.

"_Oh my god, Andrew, are you allowed to see me socially?"_

"_Absolutely. I got clearance."_

"_From whom?"_

"_From myself." _

She lets out a startled laugh.

"_In fact, I not only granted permission, I insisted that I see you socially."_

"_That's funny, because you're satirizing bureaucratic rules by adhering to the letter of the regulations instead of the spirit of it."_

She laughs, and so does he, but it does not feel right or satisfying.

"_You've got a great laugh," _he compliments her. _"You do. It's a Rat Pack laugh."_

She has no idea what that means.

"_You don't know about the Rat Pack? That's awesome." _

This completely befuddles her.

"_I-I-why? The Rat Pack does not sound like a good thing." _

"_Because you will not be able to resist the man who showed you that the Rat Pack is a good thing." _

"_Okay," _she tells him, giving him a big smile. It still doesn't feel right, though.

They chat amiably as they drink their coffees, and when they leave, Andrew kisses her once more, but the gesture still feels forced. As soon as he is gone,the thoughts she has been ignoring for the past half-hour return with a vengeance. Nothing about this feels right. Andrew is nice, yes, but the plain truth is he is not Booth and he never will be.

She thinks back to her conversation with Angela about "belonging" to someone. The notion is ridiculous – she is not a possession to be owned, but maybe, just maybe, her friend is right. Maybe the reason things feel so natural and right with Booth is because she should be with him. But this is a dangerous and disconcerting thought, not just for the emotions it stirs within her, but for all the implications it represents. She wants so badly to take the chance, but she cannot, at least, not yet. Though she knows it is impossible, the ache in her heart just will not go away.

* * *

He walks her to the elevator after they have wrapped up processing Ms. Redmon, who confesses to the murder of Jazz Gunn. She informs him, brightly, that she is off to have coffee with Andrew. He's determined not to let it get to him, so he tells her that he's also going to go see someone, and she guesses correctly that he means Catherine.

"_She's very nice. You two seem compatible." _ Compatible seems like a very strong word, especially given his doubts that there's nobody quite like _her_ out there for him. And then, the conversation goes somewhere unexpected.

"_She's easily as pretty as I am. I mean, using me as a standard."_

He stares at her for a moment, then looks away. When he finds his voice, it comes out soft and serious.

"_Bones, you are the standard."_

And that's the kicker. They can stand here, chatting in this falsely enthusiastic way about their respective romantic engagements, but they are comparing them to the other. They are the standards. It's fucked up, he thinks, as he walks away after wishing her well, no, it's beyond fucked up. Other, sane, people would recognize the foolishness in settling for less, but here they are, attempting to do just that. But that's life, he supposes.

He heads back to his office, tying up some loose ends, and then makes his way to the aquarium to see Catherine. Truth be told, he's not entirely sure what will happen, but he's determined to find out. If he's going to settle, he might as well see if it can work with an attractive, flirtatious, intelligent marine biologist, right?

He finds his way to her office and they greet each other, before she invites him to go on a tour of the aquarium. They mix talk of the case with nuggets of information about the various species of exotic fish swimming around them, when she suddenly asks,

"_Tell me the truth. Did you think, even for a second, that I might be the murderer?"_

He moves away from her, turning to face her instead.

"_No. I may not know who did commit the murder, but I definitely know who didn't. Yeah, yeah, I know. You're a scientist, so that whole intuition thing is just a load of crap, right?" _

If there's one thing Bones has taught him, it's how to speak squint. Catherine does not contradict him, but smiles, eyes twinkling merrily, and replies,

"_I have an intuition about you." _

"_Really." _He smiles, not quite a charm smile, but close.

"_Mhmm." _He can't help but laugh at her openness. It's a refreshing change. _"It tells me that you could use some company." _

Does he really seem that desperate? Jeez.

"_Oh, I could use some company? Really?" _

"_I make you laugh, you make me laugh."_

He's certainly provided her with a good deal of klutzy entertainment, but he's glad to know it makes her laugh in a good way.

"_You're gonna make me laugh?" _ She is confident, that's for sure. It's kind of a turn-on too, to be pursued.

She turns so that she is sideways, then lifts back her glossy black hair to reveal a delicate earlobe with two tiny, feminine diamond studs.

"_Do you think these diamond earrings are real?"_

"_I don't know." _Seriously, he's a man, how is he meant to know these things?

"_I could tell they were real the minute my ex gave them to me,_" she informs him solemnly, the glint in her eye giving away her contained amusement.

"_How so?" _

"_Because no one would buy fake diamonds this small." _

He laughs. He has to admit, it's clever, her joke.

"_See," _she teases, chuckling with him, triumphant in her victory. _"So, give me a call if you want to have dinner sometime." _ She turns and walks away. The ball is firmly in his court now. She's nice. She's attractive. She seems fun. Why the hell not.

"_Hey, Catherine?" _ he calls after her, causing her to stop and turn. _"Wanna have dinner sometime?" _

"_Sure,"_ she smiles, then continues to walk away.

He's grinning like an idiot, proud of himself for taking this leap, pleased to know that he's still got it, that he's not entirely damaged goods. This could be good, he thinks to himself, this could be good.

* * *

A few hours later, they sit together at their usual table inside Founding Fathers, drinking their beers and talking. He has missed this, relaxing, relaxed, listening to her speak. Suddenly, a voice reminds him this is too intimate, too _them_, so he switches gears, forcing himself to ask her in a genial tone how her date with Hacker went.

"_Oh, quite enjoyable. Andrew is charming, and very funny," _she informs him, smiling.

He tells her he knows she had a good time since she's still smiling, but he sees right through her façade. She is not smiling a genuine Bones smile. When Bones asks him about him and Catherine, however, he feels the petty urge to exaggerate their little meeting at the aquarium, making it sound more like a date without actually saying it was a date (which it wasn't).

"_Yeah. Yeah. We laughed. A lot. It felt good. I'm gonna see her again." _

Ok, so they'd shared a brief, awkward kind of laugh, but they were going to see each other again, that part was the honest-to-God truth.

"_Excellent," _she says, _"You deserve a good woman, Booth._" He appreciates the sentiment even if the woman he wishes he had is sitting in front of him.

He stumbles awkwardly over his words as he replies, _"So do you, Bones. I mean, not a woman, but…you know what I meant." _

As much as it kills him, he means it. She is the most incredible woman he's ever known, and she deserves someone who loves her for who she is, even if that man can't be him. Bones surprises him by asking what he and Catherine laughed about, then mentions that Hacker plans to introduce her to an exceptional group of rodents known as the Rat Pack. He has to fight the urge to tease her gently and explain who the Rat Pack really is because he has to move on, and part of moving on means not focusing on the million and one things he loves about Bones,including her astounding lack of cultural knowledge.

* * *

It surprises her when Booth asks her how her date with Andrew went. Once again, she feels the need to justify her choice in turning down the man sitting in front of her, the one who, if she's truly being honest with herself, she really does want to be with instead of the one she has chosen.

"_Oh, quite enjoyable. Andrew is charming, and very funny," _she tells him, forcing her tone and expression into a false brightness. She gets the feeling that Booth can see right through her charade, so she changes the topic.

"_What about you and Catherine? Did you have a good time?" _

"_Yeah. Yeah. We laughed. A lot. It felt good. I'm gonna see her again." _

Brennan ignores the pain that surges through her. This is what she wanted, for him to find someone else, to be happy.

"_Excellent. You deserve a good woman, Booth." _And he does. It's just that she wishes that she had the ability to be that woman instead of someone else.

She hears his return of the sentiment, but is more focused on the fact that he and Catherine laughed together. She feels both jealous and sad at this fact – she can't remember many times when the two of them have laughed together, but the instances she does remember are treasured memories.

Yet, despite the hurt, or perhaps because of it, she feels a perverse desire to know what they laughed about, but she is thoroughly confused when Booth narrates some anecdote about Catherine's earrings. She can sense too, that Booth is not telling her everything he knows about this talented group of rodents known as the Rat Pack but accepts that his prior explanations must have been a sign of his affection for her, which is why he has ceased them now. She has wrought this change, and now she must learn to navigate a world in which she is not so reliant on Booth to guide her through life.

* * *

Gradually, their chatter drifts into companionable silence as they finish their drinks. They pay their respective bills and then say goodnight, each heading home to their respective apartments, each consumed with doubt over the decision to move on and cultivate relationships with people who fall so obviously short of their standards, each refusing to allow these doubts to linger lest they bring regret or a change of heart.

He will not be hurt again, his heart still badly bruised by her refusal. As for her, she will not let herself examine how an action that was meant to protect him, to protect her, to protect them can have caused so much pain. No, instead they will go home, and try to sleep, and wake up and face tomorrow with a fresh resolve to forge ahead in their new normal, even if it means living with a few more lies.


End file.
